2nd Day at MWW: I think I’ll sit here and cross my eyes for a while….

Feeling much better now that I had a pretty decent night’s sleep. Which is good, since I’ve been in workshops since 8am…

These sessions are shorter than the ones yesterday; they last about an hour, whereas yesterday was one long session broken into 2-1/2 hour slots. So there’s a lot of moving around, lot of information coming at you. Thank goodness that they gave us handouts and speaker notes ahead of time. We sit, listen, ask questions, listen, run to the next session, sit, listen, ask questions…A couple of sessions, we do some actual writing. Those are really, really nice.

In between sessions, I talk with people. Laugh. Commiserate. Get into a very interesting discussion on mainstream churches and home-churches. In fact, there’s a whole lot of Christians at this conference, speakers and participants alike. The book table is even run by American Christian Writers: lots of their stuff is on the table, CDs, tapes, pamphlets, books…I buy a CD “Writing for the Unchurched”. Very, very interesting.

My last session on genre bending, blows my mind and gives me ideas for new stories to write in different styles. Unfortunately, this class is right before I meet with an agent–my mind wants to deal with this new story idea, play with it, but I need to force it to the upcoming meeting. My mind sulks.

The agent’s running a bit behind schedule. I sit, waiting, and oddly, that song from the Jetsons, “Eep Ark Oorp, Ah-Ah” starts playing in my head. My mind, still miffed that it can’t compose, is threatening to desert me.

Finally, it’s my turn. I had researched this agent before I came here, and though I bring something already, I know that this is my chance to see how Willow will stand out, so I bring a synopsis of that, too. Most of what she tells me pretty much confirms with what I’ve thought about the book when I was writing it–it gives me an idea to go when I start my second draft. But still, I come out of the meeting a bit depressed. It doesn’t help that right afterwards, there’s a writing contest: we’re to write 100 words in an hour on a certain topic. My mind looks at it and says, “Shutdown in 3-2-1. Shutdown complete. You’re on your own, sucka!”

Needless to say, I don’t win the contest.

I’m going to sit here and cross my eyes for a while. Then, I’m going to go commiserate with some newfound friends over pizza and beer. From the looks on their glazed faces, their time with the agent didn’t go as well either.

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